Hanson Meets the Commish
by foreverHenry919
Summary: Summary: Hanson is relieved of duty after an officer-involved shooting in which his gun had discharged after he'd fought with a suspect. A suspect who had just shot and seriously, if not fatally, wounded Henry. But Henry's wound had somehow become a minor flesh wound. How was that possible? And now the detective must explain to Police Commissioner Frank Reagan.
1. Hanson Meets the Commish Ch 1

"I need your badge, your ID, and your gun."

Det. Mike Hanson heard someone voice the awful command, but suddenly couldn't recall the conversation that had just led up to it. Who was this demanding him to relinquish the objects that identified him as a proud member of the best police force in the country, the NYPD?

"C'mon, Mike. Do as Lieu says."

Someone else now urged him to do something that bristled against every fiber of his being. Give up his badge, his gun? Neither voice sounded real to him. He couldn't do what these people asked. He wouldn't do it. It wasn't fair, it just ... wasn't fair. He'd done nothing wrong, he was a by-the-book kinda cop, a credit to his profession. Then, the first person spoke again, more forcefully.

"Detective? Badge, ID, and gun, please."

Everything clicked into place again, and he finally complied with the command.

"Badge. ID. Gun." He handed each item to Lt. Reece in just that order. "What now?" he asked, his voice quiet but strained; his eyes almost glazed over. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. A rash, overzealous rookie, yes, or an older cop who should have retired years ago, yes. But not to him. He was always on his toes, always mindful of his duty to protect and serve. A good, honest, hardworking cop.

"You know the drill, Mike. Desk duty for now. The suspect, Darnell Johnson, is spouting a different version of events. So, while the investigation is ongoing - " Reece replied calmly but firmly as she motioned with one hand towards his desk. "And a visit to 1PP. Commissioner Reagan wants to see you right away." She eyed him for a moment and then added, "If I were you, I'd speak to him before anyone from IA gets here. He's gruff but fair. Those IA guys seem to all be bucking for a promotion on the backs of good, honest cops like you."

"I'll come with you, Mike. After all, I'm your partner." Jo told him and placed her hand on his arm.

"You'll do no such, thing, Martinez. The Commissioner wants only to speak with him." She turned her attention away from a stunned and disappointed Jo, back to a wordless Mike. "Just tell him the facts, Mike. You do that and everything should work out okay." Her expression softened just a bit as she looked him in the face. "Go now. The sooner you talk to him, the sooner you can get back here to your job." She dipped her head and turned and walked into her office, his police paraphernalia weighing heavily in her hand.

Jo watched Reece retreat to her office and then turned to Mike. "She's right, I guess. Talk to Commissioner Reagan, tell him what happened and get all this craziness behind us. Let's go." She turned and began to walk out of the bullpen, Mike close on her heels.

"Lieu said I was to fly solo on this. No partner." he reminded her as they stepped into the elevator.

Jo focused on the floor numbers above as each one lit up and brought them closer to the lobby. "She said nothing about me not being able to drive you over there, though." She flashed a smile at him and he rolled his eyes and smiled back.

They climbed into her car and buckled themselves in. "So what exactly did happen out there, Mike? You never finished telling me." She saw him suddenly stiffen out of the corner of her eye. Geez, this is how Henry usually reacted to some of her questions. Was this 'hide-the-truth-from-Jo' virus catching? Was it a 'guy' thing? She'd taken off a few days to attend her younger sister's wedding in Albuquerque. In her absence, Mike had commandeered Henry as his unofficial crime-solving partner and they'd pursued a suspect wanted for the robbery and murder of an Italian tourist.

"I can't talk to you about it yet, Jo." he finally replied. _Not so sure if I should. Not so sure I know, myself._ He'd even waived his right to have a Union Rep with him or speak to an attorney before going to speak with the Commissioner. The fewer people he spoke to about that night, the better. And not just for Henry's sake, either. For his own sake, he admitted to himself. Not yet ready to retire or spend time in a padded room. He took in a deep breath and released it in a rush with his next words. "I'll talk with the Commish," he began, "and ... "

"And what? What, Mike?"

"We'll go from there." He couldn't tell her the truth. At least, not all of it. And he had to get it straight in his head what he was going to tell Commissioner Reagan. This was the first time that he would meet the legendary peacekeeper-in-chief face-to-face and ... he would be forced to lie to him. Lie to the Commish. And to Jo. And to Reece. But he had no choice. How could he tell anybody that he'd wrestled with a suspect who had just shot and seriously wounded Henry, only Henry's body now carried only a minor wound? And just where had that crazy cracker vanished to?

"We're here." Jo put her hand on his shoulder as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "I'll wait here for you." She gave him an encouraging smile and he exited the vehicle and entered the building that had always seemed so imposing to him. Even more imposing today. Almost foreboding.

His heart pounded in his ears as the elevator doors opened and the Commissioner's son, Det. Danny Reagan, stepped off. He'd seen him around at various police activities and community affairs. Last spring, his precinct, the 11th, had just barely bested Danny's 12th precinct softball team. He seemed like a good sort, with somewhat of a reputation for being a hothead while either pursuing or interrogating a suspect, but he'd never crossed the line. He'd come close more than once, but that built-in Reagan radar had always managed to keep him on the right path. Mike hoped that Danny wouldn't recognize or notice him and he lowered his head and attempted to shield his face by pretending to scratch his forehead.

"Hey. Det. Hanson." Danny was squarely in front of him now, a slight smile on his face. His closely-cropped red hair replaced his formerly short do with the familiar widow's peak. "Betcha thought I wouldn't remember you, huh?"

Mike chuckled softly and an eyebrow jerked up. "Det. Reagan, nice to see you." The two men shook hands.

Danny looked to either side of him then back to Mike. In an almost whispery tone, his thick, Brooklyn accent reassured him, "Look, I heard about what happened and I know you're on your way up to talk to my old man about it. Darnell Johnson's a frequent flyer, collared him a couple of times myself. Nobody in their right mind would ever take his word over yours." He jabbed a finger at Mike's chest to emphasize his next words. "You're a good cop. I know. Word gets around. Just be square with the Commissioner, lay out the facts," he spread his hands and shook his head slightly, "everything will be copasetic."

Mike smiled and slowly nodded.

Danny turned to leave and said, "Hang in there, buddy." He gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, which Mike returned with as much gusto as he could muster.

Great, Mike, thought ruefully to himself. Everyone has faith in him except himself. The elevator ride up to Commissioner Reagan's penthouse offices seemed an eternity. When the car slowed and the doors opened, his stomach did a flip flop and he feared losing his lunch all over the nice, clean, meticulously polished floors. He walked further into the offices and neared a desk, behind which an attractive blond woman sat. She smiled and met his eyes. As he grew closer, he remembered her in the bleachers rooting for the 12th precinct's softball team last summer. Det. Abigail Baker, he noted. She rose from her desk and knocked on the Commissioner's door. A voice from within bade her to enter. She opened the door and announced his arrival. "Commissioner, this is Det. Mike Hanson of the 11th Precinct."

"Thank you, Baker." the Commissioner said.

Mike nodded and sheepishly stepped into the office. Baker stepped out of the office and closed the door behind her.

"Commissioner." Mike nodded again.

"Have a seat, Detective." The Commissioner directed him to a chair that faced his desk. The chair right next to a wheelchair-bound Henry with a bandaged thigh.

"Hi, Doc." Mike said.

"Detective." Henry replied.

The two men side-eyed each other for a split second then turned their attention to the Commissioner.

"Glad you could come so soon, Det. Hanson. Hope you don't mind that I also requested your ME, Dr. Morgan, here, to attend this meeting, as well. He's shed quite a bit of light on what happened in your recent encounter with the suspect, Darnell Johnson. That being said, I would like very much to hear from you, the chain of events that led up to Johnson and the good Doctor being shot."

Mike was surprised, to say the least. Henry spilled the beans? Mike recalled that he had seen him bleed, had seen where the bullet had torn through his expensive suit pants and penetrated his inner left thigh. He'd seen enough gunshot wounds to know that Henry's femoral artery had most likely been damaged. A possibly fatal wound. The blood had gushed down and over Henry's fingers as he'd gripped the wound, fallen down, and grimaced in pain. Then, after the struggle that had resulted in Johnson also getting shot, Henry had simply disappeared. Where had he gone, and so quickly? But later on that evening, when he'd visited the antiques shop for answers, he'd witnessed a pain-free Henry traipsing down the stairs into the shop, just as he'd entered.

Henry had been unquestionably startled by Mike's presence. He hadn't expected him to show up there. When questioned about his terrible wound just hours earlier, Henry had brushed it off by describing it as only a flesh wound. Grazed, he'd said. Mike hadn't bought it. He knew what he'd seen. And that was hardly just a flesh wound. But the equally troubling fact was that Henry was standing in front of him, apparently in no need of major surgery, after all. Mike felt that he had no choice but to enter that version of facts into his report. He'd finally left the shop with more questions than answers ... and angry; very angry. The enigmatic doctor and his equally enigmatic, elderly roommate were once again free to roam amongst their many antiques, having once again clouded themselves in yet another layer of mystery.

Nonetheless, Mike concluded that he had no choice but to stick to the facts in his report. He breathed an inward sigh of relief when the Commissioner gave a nod and a loud sigh and smiled at him.

"That stands with what the good doctor just told me." He momentarily eyed the two men seated across from his desk and said, "As of this moment, Detective, you are officially reinstated to full duty." He rose and extended his hand to one, then the other, shaking their hands and nearly dwarfing even Henry's large hand in his own. His towering 6'5" height made him at least as tall as Lucas, but broader at the shoulders and exuded much more authority; a quiet but strong confidence. Mustached and still darkly handsome at 67, he was as imposing a figure as the building they were in. His impeccable manner of dress rivaled Henry's (sans the scarf), and, just like Henry, he wore his specially-tailored suit well. One could also say that if the immortal ME ever did manage to age into his late 60's, he might wind up looking like Frank Reagan.

Det. Baker was holding the door open for them now.

"Baker, please see to it that they make it out of the building okay, especially Dr. Morgan." He motioned to indicate his wheelchair.

"Oh, no problem, Commissioner, I got this." Mike said and gripped the handles of Henry's conveyance. He placed his hand on Henry's shoulder and dug his fingers in causing Henry to grunt a bit. "My ride's just outside and the Doc and I are going in the same direction. Right, Doc?" Henry hid a grimace with a forced smile and nodded. "Yeah," Mike gleefully reassured them all, "I'm gonna take real good care of the Doc."

Once outside the building, Henry spoke up. "Detective, I do appreciate your offer of a ride, but as you can see," he said pointing to Abe's car with Abe at the wheel, parked only a few cars behind Jo's, "I have my own ride."

"So, you do," Mike sing-songed, his eyes squinting suspiciously at Abe, "so, you do." He pushed Henry's wheelchair closer to Abe's car and gave a slight salute to him. Then, he bent down and whispered into Henry's ear, "Look, I don't know what's up with you and your friend, Mr. Sunshine, there - "

"Abraham. His name is Abraham, Detective." Henry corrected him.

"Whatever." He straightened back up and held the chair in place while Henry transferred himself from it to the front passenger seat. He opened the back door, collapsed the chair and placed it in the back seat. Once done, he stepped back from the car but maintained stern eye contact with Henry as Abe drove off.

"What was that all about?" Abe asked in astonishment. "Thought you two were friends. He looked like he wanted to punch you."

Henry rubbed his shoulder where Mike's fingers had dug in and muttered, "We're not exactly friends, we're colleagues, although," he sighed, "I seriously doubt that he will request me as his ME again anytime soon."

"Lemme guess. He's still sore about your disappearing act after getting badly shot the other night and then showing up later ready to run a marathon, right?" Abe chortled and shook his head. "You sure know how to get yourself into it, don't you, Pops?" He honked his horn and growled at another motorist, "Where'd you get your license, ya nut? Print it yourself in your freakin' basement?"

Henry's sigh of exasperation required no verbal response.

"How are you gonna handle this?" He was met with silence. "I hope you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."

Henry sighed deeply again and pulled his lips in.

"Would you please stop that? Getting on my nerves."

"Abraham. You must control yourself."

"Nope. I don't. I'm entitled." He looked over at his father and grinned. "I'm a grumpy old man now." He smiled and it grew broader as he finally saw a broad smile on Henry's face.

"Home. I'll make you some scones. We'll figure it out."

Henry knew that his relationship with Mike only existed because of Jo's insistence of requesting him as their ME on all of their cases for the past three years. He was aware that as he and Jo had gradually grown closer, on and off the job, Mike may have begun to view him less of a threat, but still with a wary eye because of how fiercely he protected his privacy. For that reason, he and Mike had failed to forge a strong relationship, professional or otherwise. It was just as well, since Henry tried to keep as many people as possible at arm's length in order to guard his secret of being an immortal. An everlaster, as his son, Abe, jokingly referred to him. Funny how things work out, he thought to himself. In order to clear the air between them, so to speak, he just might be forced to reveal his secret to Det. Mike Hanson instead of to Det. Jo Martinez, the person he'd always assumed would be first. Funny how things work out. Then, why wasn't he laughing?

vvvv

Back at the Commissioner's office ...

Frank Reagan, deep in thought, hands in pockets, paced slowly back and forth in his office, from his desk to the leather sofa at the back wall, around the coffee table and leather chairs in the middle of the room, and back again. There was something odd about the Detective's and the ME's behavior. Something he'd picked up on. A strained acceptance between the two that leaned more to antagonism. As Commissioner, he tolerated nothing less than the truth from his men and women of the NYPD. That included ME's with a crime-solving bent who frequented crime scenes with them. Their stories, however, had corroborated each other's, and they had related them separately, but ... still ... there was also something else niggling at the back of his memory. He suddenly walked back to his desk and dialed his home phone number. He twisted a bit in his swivel chair as the phone rang at the other end and quickly sat forward once it was answered.

"Hi, Pops. Remember when you told us of when I was about 18 months old, very sick, and - "

 _("I had to pull a gun on the ambulance driver to force him to take you to Methodist, the nearest hospital, instead of that butcher shop, St. Victor's?")_

"Yeah, that."

 _("What happened to dredge up that old business?")_

"Well, it's not so much that as the doctor you described who treated me."

 _("The doctor ... ? Ohhh, the doctor, yeah, had a twangy British accent, nice guy, but I was more concerned about you.")_

"Well, I remember you said something about how he dressed, how he carried himself, and how the nursing staff had a tendency to get lost in his eyes and - "

 _(Hmphf! Yeah! Darndest thing. There you were so little and in need of care and those empty-headed nurses were goo-gawin' over his dazzling smile. Pffft! But I have to say, he did it. He brought you back from the brink. Once everything got a little settled, I went back to the hospital to thank him but they told me that he'd just up and quit, no word why. I always wanted to just thank him and shake his hand. Why are you asking me about all that, Francis?")_

"I'm not sure, but I just might be able to arrange that thank you and handshake session for you."

 _(What? You know where he is? He'd be about my age or a little older now. And I seriously doubt that he would even remember you out of all the other patients he must have treated over the years.")_

"Hmmm, we'll see, Pops. I invited him to dinner this Friday."


	2. Hanson Meets the Commish Ch 2

_He'd seen enough gunshot wounds to know that Henry's femoral artery had most likely been damaged. A possibly fatal wound. The blood had gushed down and over Henry's fingers as he'd gripped the wound, fallen down, and grimaced in pain. Then, after the struggle that had resulted in Johnson also getting shot, Henry had simply disappeared. Where had he gone, and so quickly? But later on that evening, when he'd visited the antiques shop for answers, he'd witnessed a pain-free Henry traipsing down the stairs into the shop, just as he'd entered._

vvvv

Det. Mike Hanson walked across the bullpen towards his desk. He could feel his partner's, Det. Jo Martinez's, eyes boring into the back of his head as she followed closely behind him. During the car ride from 1PP back to the precinct, he hadn't shared much more with her than what he (and Henry, obviously) had concocted and served up willingly to the Commish. The guilt of having lied to Jo was eating him up inside. She deserved better. She deserved the truth. But what exactly _was_ the truth? Even though Henry held the key to some pertinent facts, he hadn't felt this kind of guilt since he'd taken his younger brother's ex-girlfriend to the prom a couple of decades ago. Only she had lied to him and said that she'd broken up with his brother, when she hadn't. She'd just felt like being adventurous, she'd said. The guilt was (is) still hard to bear.

 _I'm not a jerk, though. Just seem to fall into these iffy situations because I have a tendency to take people at their word_. He narrowed his eyes when he realized that, like his brother's girlfriend, that weirdo ME, Henry, had lied to him. Was he just feeling adventurous the other night when he'd pulled that disappearing act after getting shot? "I'm gonna get to the bottom of it." he muttered.

"Bottom of what?"

Jo's voice cut into his thoughts as he stood almost frozen behind his desk. It was only then that he realized that she was standing right next to him. Before he could reply, she stepped back a bit and allowed room for Lt. Reece.

"Badge. ID. Gun." Reece said with a satisfied smile as she handed his armor back to him.

He gladly situated them back onto his person in their proper positions, fingered his badge and smiled down at it.

"Welcome back, Mike. You and Morgan did a great job closing this particular case." Reece flashed a bit of teeth in her smile as she stepped away, back to her office.

"Yeah, great." He grudgingly replied. Multiple witnesses, including the victim before he'd died two days later, had described Johnson as the perpetrator. They'd managed to track him, based on his previous modus operandi and to a boarding house near the waterfront. And the standoff in the now infamous alleyway next to the boarding house. Infamous to him, at least. For, because of what had happened there with Henry, he now felt that his life would never be the same again. That he was slowly seeing his prism of a reality, one he'd always taken for granted, easily reveal a spectrum of previously unknown colors.

Jo turned from their Lieutenant, and smirked as she watched him bask in his reinstatement glory. But she'd also noticed the edge in his voice. She dropped her arms and stepped closer to him with that I-smell-a-rat look. He adjusted his tie and pretended not to see it.

"What say we get back to work." He moved to sit down, but she caught his arm and gently but firmly tugged him back up.

"What say we go see Henry." she whispered.

He scoffed and asked, "See him for what? Why? All's been said down at 1PP." He made a wiping motion with one hand. "I got nothin' more to say to the guy - I mean, he and I are through." He squeezed his eyes shut and fought to gather the right words. "The case, the case is through. Finished." He sighed wearily. "So, he's all yours again." He waved his hand dismissively. But he'd just lied again, because as soon as he was off work, he was going back over to that antiques shop and turn the quirky ME upside down and shake the truth out of him, if he had to. And he knew he could do it since he spotted the guy about 50 pounds.

"No, uh, there's something the both of you aren't telling me and we need to get this aired out once and for all." She stood, defiantly, with her arms crossed and head tilted.

He shook his head at her. "Jo. Believe me ... you don't wanna do this. The guy's ... " he spread his fingers as if to grasp something and shook his hands until they eventually crunched into tight fists, "I don't know, hiding something, something ... weird. The guy's just too weird. You'd better let me go talk to him first." Immediately, he knew that that was the wrongest thing he could have said. Of course, she was going to go with him - he couldn't stop her. He relented, defeated. "Okay. Okay. I was gonna go over there when I knocked off, but ... " He nodded vigorously when he saw her roll her eyes and walk out of the bullpen. "Yeah, okay. Hold up, okay?"

vvvv

At Abe's Antiques ...

"Dad, there was nothing else you could have done. You had no choice." Abe said in his best calming voice. "You stayed back, like Hanson had told you. The perp ran, Hanson tackled him, and - "

"And I was shot anyway, yes." Henry frowned and rubbed the back of his hand under his chin. "Abe, I died. The bullet damaged my femoral artery so much that I bled out quickly and, and I'm sure the perp, as you call him, saw me." He stood in the middle of the sitting room gesticulating as he spoke, and shifted his feet around like an awkward ballerina without a tutu.

"Yeah, but who's gonna take his word over that of a brave cop with a stellar record and you?" Abe raised his eyebrows at Henry.

"Thank you, Abe, for that resounding vote of confidence." he said dryly.

Abe shrugged and reminded him of a few bright spots. For instance, the wound had been a through-and-through, which meant the bullet hadn't vanished along with his body, and the CSU had recovered it. That meant that both discharged bullets from Hanson's gun were accounted for. Afterwards, Henry had subjected himself to a deliberate flesh wound at the hands of his son, Abe, still a marksman from his Army Ranger days in Vietnam. He'd been treated for it at Presbyterian Hospital, tying up that loose end for Hanson's report, and for the continued perpetration of his lies to shield his secret. Otherwise, two shots, two victims, one bullet, would equal a big problem.

"Sounds to me like you have nothing to worry about. Everything's accounted for." Abe cast a concerned look at his father. "So, why are you so worked up?"

"Hanson. I could see it in his eyes, the mistrust. The way he's acted towards me ever since. He didn't see me die because he was turned away from me, crouched over the suspect who'd just been shot. The last thing I heard was him calling 911 for two gunshot victims. Can you imagine what must have gone through his mind when he turned around and found me gone?"

"According to _your_ part of the story," Abe pointed at him, "you panicked, wandered away, and some good samaritans must have dropped you off at the nearest hospital. Your memory's patchy because (he wiggled his fingers at the side of his head) you were out of it. Good thing you remembered how to speed dial me on that burner phone I gave you before you ... you know. It all fits, Dad, the detective shouldn't question anything else about it."

He shook his head and groaned. "No, he's smart. And he's not finished digging for answers. Answers I just can't give him."

vvvv

Back at the precinct ...

Mike caught up to Jo and as they waited for the elevator to arrive, a thought crossed his mind. "Wait a minute, Jo. I've already been over there and put his feet to the fire for some straight answers."

"And ... ?"

"Guy still came at me crooked. Look, the perp was treated at St. Joseph's, a different hospital from Henry." He looked at her and saw that she understood what he was getting at, but she was still a bit confused. He jogged back to his desk and retrieved a copy of the medical report on Henry's GSW treatment at Presbyterian that night. He'd made a copy for his own records, just in case. Feeling confident, he jogged back up to Jo.

"Let's hit him in two waves. I'll check out Presbyterian," he held up the report, "you head over to the shop and soften him up. Bat those big pretties at him. That always melts him." He grinned when her jaw dropped and the blush spread across her cheeks. "Yeah, ya think I don't notice that every time you guys catch sight of each other?"

"I - do - **_not_** ... "

"C'mon, Jo. Don't have to be a detective to notice that!"

Her eyes widened and she pointed a finger at him. "You're just lucky that I'm still in on this with you. Or else, I'd ... " She crossed her arms and glared at him. "Okay, I'll go to the shop and **question him** (she spoke louder over his laughter). She gave up and shook her head but he could see that she was fighting against a smile.

"Sorry, Jo." He managed to calm himself. "I'll meet ya at the shop as soon as I can." She sighed and nodded in agreement.

The elevator arrived and they were both one step from the street, one step from snooping around behind their colleague's back, but because of his exhausting secrecy, he only had himself to blame. And this time it had nearly cost Mike his job.

"They're probably gonna say you need a warrant." Jo warned him as they rushed to their respective cars.

Mike chuckled. "Not if you have a friend who works there and owes you **_big_** time, you don't."

"Ouch! I think I just heard something that sounds illegal." Jo said, a bit perturbed, as she opened her car door.

"Well, that just means you're listening too hard." He smugly buckled his seatbelt and drove away.

vvvv

Just as a middle-aged woman, oozing Park Avenue garb and glamour, walked happily out of the antiques shop with her newly-acquired mini-bust of Mozart, Jo arrived and parked across the street. She saw Abe give a friendly goodbye wave to his customer before closing the door and locking it up. His hand jerked a bit when he'd spotted Jo as he flipped the Open sign to Closed. _Closing so soon? Why?_ She quickly locked her car up and sprinted across the street when traffic thinned out. The closer she got to the door, the paler Abe seemed to get. _What is up with him, he almost looks afraid._ She stood on the other side of the door now and waited for him to open it, which he finally did after several awkward moments.

"Jo. Nice to see you. Uh, what brings you here?" His smile, to her, was about as genuine as a three-dollar bill.

"Nice to see you, too." She felt that her words were as empty as his smile. It wasn't like Abe to be so inhospitable and not invite her in. "Came by to see Henry. Is he here?" Of course, he was there, probably hiding in some corner, hatching some new lies for his old secrecy story. She peered over his shoulder into the shop.

"Uh ... Henry ... ?" He smiled but flinched at the utterance of his name.

"Yes, Abe. Henry. Henry Morgan, your roommate."

He chuckled but there was a hollow ring to it. "Oh, Jo. Funny." he pointed at her with raised eyebrows, then his smile faded. "He's, uh, not here right now. But I'll let him know you came by." He winked as he closed the door again and locked it, tapping the Closed sign as if to remind her. He waved and moved back into the interior of the shop and disappeared up the stairs.

Confused and a little hurt over Abe's uncharacteristically disingenuous behavior, she was just about to return to her car when Mike drove up and double parked next to her car. She waved at him to stay in his car, but he got out of it anyway. She ran across the street and they moved to the sidewalk, out of the way of traffic.

"What's up? Thought you'd already be inside, softening up the Doc."

"Abe wouldn't let me in."

"Abe - he what? He's crazy about you. Treats you like his little living doll."

She blinked at him in disbelief and put up a hand. "You know, I'm just gonna let that pass. He's a nice old guy, I like him, I guess he likes me ... just doesn't like me today." She frowned at the shop's second floor windows, her mouth set into a tight line. Not gonna take this personal, she told herself. Be a detective. Henry's hiding something and Abe's protecting him. _What is their real connection?_ That question about the two secretive men had nagged at her for more than a couple of years. Despite being charmed by both of them over dinners and an occasional thoughtful card or small, impersonal gift, their answers to her growingly pointed questions seemed only to generate more questions. There were times when the frustration level threatened to cause her to break friendship with them.

Henry's odd behavior the night of the shooting had jeopardized more than their friendship, though. It had jeopardized Mike's future with the NYPD. And just because he'd managed to paint over the truth with another set of lies that helped Mike get reinstated, was beside the point. Why couldn't he just trust them with whatever he felt he needed to hide? Didn't he know by now that neither she nor Mike posed any threat to him? She moved her gaze away from the shop's windows and onto the report in Mike's hand.

"What did you find out?"

He held it up again and shook it to emphasize his words. "Jo, the Doc was treated for a bullet graze to his outer left thigh, basically, nothing. Problem is that the wound I saw was much worse and much closer to his inner thigh. That bullet went right through him, it didn't graze him. It and all that blood ruined those fancy trousers of his, too." He dropped his hand but continued to clutch the report until it began to crumple.

"Well," she scoffed, "that's strange, but this is Henry, we're talking about. Mike, did you see him when he wandered away?"

"No, my back was to him. I was checking Johnson for vitals after my gun went off the second time during the struggle and he was hit. He looked dead to me, but ... anyway, I was calling 911 when the alley was lit up for like, half a second, with a bright light. Johnson croaked out something that sounded like, 'He's gone', and I turned around to check out Henry and ... yeah ... he was gone except for ... that pocket watch of his." The confusion was written all across his face. "Jo, there is no way that anyone could have stood up, let alone, walk anywhere with a wound like that. Bleeding like that."

"You sure? I mean, maybe - "

"I'm sure! I was in the First Gulf War under Daddy Bush, and had a tour of duty in the Iraq War under Jr. Seen all kinds of horrific wounds in war and during my years on the force. I may not be a doctor like Henry, but I know what kinda wound the Doc had." He ran his fingers through his hair and searched his memory unsuccessfully for sensible answers. It made him conflicted now. The detective in him wanted answers, but the part that had grown to actually like and respect their quirky colleague, didn't want to know.

She silently assessed what he'd just told her and stared across the street at the shop, her arms crossed. "Doesn't look like we're gonna get in there today."

He looked at the crumpled report in his hand, smoothed it out and folded it away into his pocket.

She dropped her arms and turned to him. "Let's just head back to the precinct. Rethink our strategy."

Mike nodded and walked over to his car and opened the door. Before getting in, he looked at Jo and said, "Ya know, whatever it is that the Doc is hiding, for some strange reason I can't help but feel sorry for him."

She nodded, not because she felt pity for Henry, but because her feelings for him ran deeper; and all she wanted to do was comfort him. If he'd only trust her and let her in.

vvvv

The dining room of Commissioner Frank Reagan's residence, later on that evening ...

"So, Francis ... I can't believe you actually found the doctor who treated you when you were a toddler. I was a pretty good detective in my day, and I tried to find him. But he'd just vanished, as if off of the face of the earth." Henry Reagan, the silver-haired, former NYC Police Commissioner sipped his Jameson (Irish whiskey) and smiled over his reading glasses at his son. "He was a few years older ... you sure he's able to make it here? Wouldn't want to be responsible for him falling and breaking a hip or stroking out or something just because I've got an itch to trot down memory lane."

His son, Frank, the current Commissioner, chuckled a bit, his cheeks puffed out and his eyes dancing. "Pretty sure you won't have to worry about anything like that, Pops. And he's not coming here. Dinner's gonna be at Peter Lugar's."

"Ohhh, forgot; special occasion. He's still spry, huh?"

"Yeah." Frank sipped from his own glass of Jameson. "You might say that."

Frank's daughter, ADA Erin Reagan, joined them in the room and he held up his glass to her as she shed her coat from her tall, willowy frame, and draped it onto the back of one of the chairs. She nodded and smiled, but her dark, pretty eyes held a weariness in them. "Hi, Dad. Hi, Grampa." She greeted them both with a kiss on the forehead. Her father started to rise from his chair, but she shook her head, causing her long, dark tendril curls to bounce and sway. "I'll fix my own." She moved quickly to do so.

"What brings you here?" Frank eyed his father, Henry. "Come to discuss the Darnell Johnson case again? Because if you have, I can only tell you again what the arresting officer, Det. Mike Hanson, told me."

"No, his statement will suffice." She turned around with her drink in her hand, a slightly troubled look on her face. "It's the statement of the ME, Dr. Henry Morgan, that bothers me."

"Oh, yeah?" Henry asked. "Why, because of his age? You know, young lady, some senior citizens still have possession of their full faculties." He felt lucky, blessed, to count himself as one of them.

Erin frowned and came to sit next in the chair next to her grandfather. "No," she shook her head. "Grampa, he's - "

"In full possession of all his faculties." Frank finished for her, not ready to reveal too much to his father just yet. "Believe me." He sipped from his glass again.

Just then, Det. Danny Reagan and his wife, Linda, burst into the room in the middle of a disagreement.

"No, Linda, I'm tellin' ya, that ain't such a good idea." Danny frowned at her biting off his words at her.

"I happen to think it's a great idea." Linda's short, blonde hair pixied above her blue eyes and smiling dimpled cheeks. She looked around the room and greeted them all as she unbuttoned her jacket and thrust it into the arms of her surprised husband. She sat in the chair opposite Erin and leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Erin, I've found the perfect guy for you!"

"He's not perfect, Linda, the guy's ... I dunno ... weird." Danny whined.

"Intellectual." Linda countered. "He's single, handsome, smart, solves crimes, a doctor - did I mention he's handsome? You've gotta meet him, Erin. You two would make such a cute couple." She giggled and turned to look at Danny. "Oh, I can't believe I'm match-making."

"I can't believe it, either." Danny sighed, clearly not in favor of any of this. "Look, Sis, don't pay any attention to my wife's dingbat idea, okay? The guy she's talkin' about might be all those things, but so, what? He's got a bunch of arrest records for public indecency as long as your arm."

"Danny, just be quiet for a minute. You sister should be allowed to decide for herself. 'Course, if she wants to miss out on meeting a perfectly great guy with a great personality, that's her mistake."

"She doesn't want to meet this guy, Linda."

Frank held up a hand. "Hold it, _hold it_ , you two." The pitch of his voice informed his son and daughter-in-law that _he_ was holding court here, not them. "Now, what is this all about, Linda?" Danny opened his mouth to reply, but Frank held up his hand again. "LIN-da. You'll get your turn." He smiled at Linda and nodded.

"Danny doesn't want me to set Erin up with that dreamy ME, Dr. Henry Morgan. I say they'd make a perfect couple."

"Dreamy. Really? And I, your husband, sitting right here?" Danny asked, mildly annoyed.

"It's merely a clinical observation." She shrugged, then winked at Erin. "So, whaddaya say, Erin? You won't regret, I guarantee it."

Erin frowned. "The same Dr. Henry Morgan who's an ME? The same ME involved with Det. Mike Hanson of the 11th on the Darnell Johnson case?"

Linda cast a confused look her husband's way.

"Yes, to both questions." Danny smiled at the look of disgust growing on his sister's face. He'd won by default. His wife's match-making days were over before they'd begun.

Erin shook her head amidst Linda's protestations. "No, Linda. NO!" She rose from her chair and headed towards the kitchen, Linda trailing behind her. Their voices eventually muffled behind the kitchen door, leaving the three men to release separate sighs of relief.

Henry started to sip his drink, then frowned and lowered his glass. "Francis. Is there something you wish to tell me?"

That phrase directed at him during his childhood and teenaged years when he'd been less than obedient, still humbled him into remembering his place in this household. He was the son and Henry was the father. A smart one who didn't stand for any tomfoolery. But this bit of knowledge had to remain just between the two of them. He couldn't even share it with his own son, Danny.

"Sorry, son. Need to know."

Danny looked from one to the other and waved his hand as he rose from his chair. "Fine, fine. I'll board the Love Boat in the kitchen." He shook his head as he entered the kitchen.

"Now." Henry said. "Is _their_ Henry Morgan ... _my_ Henry Morgan?"

Frank nodded his head slowly three times.

"You're. Kidding."


	3. Hanson Meets the Commish Ch 3

The next morning at the precinct ...

Mike and Jo had just settled in behind their respective desks, and had begun surveying their individual paperwork landscapes, when a Lt. Reece's voice rang out.

"Ten Hut!"

They, and all other personnel in the room stood to attention and saluted Police Commissioner Frank Reagan as he appeared at the entrance of the bullpen and walked in and stopped just short of midway. Even five years after trading in his detective's desk for the stately Commissioner's office, he had to fight the habit of stalking eagerly over to his old desk, now occupied by a lovely, dark-haired, latina detective, one Jo Martinez.

"As you were." he uneasily instructed them, and, equally uneasily returned their salutes. This was one part of his job that he did not relish: subordinates saluting him. And he didn't particularly like that word subordinates, either. To refer to them as such, as his Deputy Commissioner of Public Information, Garrett Moore, insisted they were, was to imply that they were beneath him ... and they weren't. He greatly appreciated and admired them all for their hard work, sacrifices, and devotion to their duties. With the exception of some bad eggs, the majority of them were dedicated men and women of New York's finest. So, if an expected salute from them meant that he would be expected to return it, so be it.

"Commissioner Reagan. Welcome to the 11th." Lt. Reece greeted him.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. And nice to see you again." He smiled warmly at her.

Reece raised an eyebrow in Martinez's direction and said, "Come to visit your old desk."

He chuckled and lowered his head. "No. No. Not today. But it's good to see that it's in good hands." He schooled his features and turned his attention to Mike.

"Mike?" Reece caught his eye and motioned for him to join them, which he did, sweaty palms and dry throat and all.

An anguished thought ran through his mind as he neared the towering Top Cop again. What had he done wrong now?

Reece turned around and patted Mike on the shoulder, saying, "I leave you in good hands. Watch the language." She playfully pointed a finger at him and retreated backwards a few steps.

Mike did his best to appear calm as he looked up at the Commissioner. This must be what it felt like to go to the guillotine, he woefully thought to himself. Finally, he managed to croak out, "Commissioner."

Frank softly but firmly instructed him, "Walk with me." He turned around and began walking out of the bullpen as Lt. Reece rang out another "Ten Hut" to signal the Commissioner's exit.

Mike haltingly saluted the Commissioner's back, bobbed his head up and down and said, "Yes, Sir." He frowned helplessly over his shoulder at Jo, who, with raised eyebrows, clasped both hands over her mouth, then lowered them to offer him a weak smile of encouragement. The forlorn, minor chords of the old Russian work song played in his head (dah dah DAH dahhhh, dee dah dah DAH dahhhh) as he followed Frank into a nearby conference room.

"Have a seat, Detective."

Mike complied, all the while keeping his eyes glued to the Commissioner. Frank eyed him for a second or two, then sat down, naturally, at the head of the table, Mike to his immediate left. He seemed to be fighting an inner battle and finally inhaled and exhaled, looking Mike squarely in the eye.

"I considered myself to be a pretty good detective back in the day." He paused to smile as he realized he'd echoed his father's words of the night before. "And I know a smoke screen when I see it. Like that bull crap that you and Dr. Morgan blew in my face the other day in my office. Normally, I would have shown you the door to the street. Permanently. And, after a call to Morgan's superiors with some choice words, I'm sure that he, also, would have been rushed out of the OCME so fast, his head would have spun." His gaze dropped to his clasped hands in front of him, then, back up to Mike. "That being said ... this is your opportunity to set things straight by telling me exactly what happened the night that those two men were shot with your weapon, Detective."

Mike visibly stiffened and barely breathed for several moments. Caught in a lie. By the Commissioner, himself, no less. And he wasn't asking for his head on a platter? Just wanted the whole truth and nothing but the truth? He finally began to breathe in and out normally again, then cleared his throat to make sure his response was strong and clear. Well ... as much as he could muster, anyway.

"With all due respect, Sir, I did tell you the truth." He paused and licked his lips so suddenly dry. "Except ... for a few things." The words rushed out of him on the tail wind of a sigh of relief. It might spell the end of his career, after all, but it was a weight off of him. The heaviness of which he hadn't fully been aware of until just now. He went on to tell about the seriousness of Henry's wound; the bright light behind him that had lasted only a split second; Darnell Johnson's utterance of Henry having disappeared.

"He was gone. Like the perp - sorry - Johnson, said." He looked the Commissioner square on even though it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Snitch on a co-worker and admit that he had lied and falsified a police report. Big time. Never in all his years on the force had he done any of those things. "I don't ... I don't know where he went or even how because that wound was too serious for him to have stood up, let alone walk. Except he didn't, he, he just ... vanished." He cast his eyes downward and studied the table, no longer able to hold the Commissioner's gaze. "I'm very sorry, Sir. Just didn't know how to put all that into a report without ... "

"Without sounding like a lunatic or a drunk, right?" Frank softly queried.

"Yeah, I mean, it just sounds too crazy." Mike looked at him again. "But that's what happened. All of it. I've been dancing around the truth about this ever since that night."

"You didn't even tell your wife. Or your own partner, did you?" Frank queried again, a faraway but knowing look in his eyes.

Mike frowned. "Well, I told my partner, Martinez, because she and I have already bandied about our suspicions about the Doc; but I didn't tell my wife. Don't want her thinkin' she's married to a nut."

Frank chuckled a bit, his shoulders hunching up and down. "Well, you are a lot braver than I was, Detective. For the past nearly 40 years, I've kept my experience with the good doctor to myself. Not even my dad, the former Commissioner, knows about it."

Mike's eyes widened and his brow furrowed, his mouth worked but no words came out.

"Yes, Detective. Apparently, Henry Morgan has been around a lot longer than any of us suspect. Exactly how long, I don't know, but to describe him as an ancient soul is probably pretty accurate."

"Well, I guess, I, I don't know, but ... you're saying that he pulled that vanishing act on you, too, when you were a cop?"

Frank smiled and said, "Well, not exactly." He related how he'd grown up with stories his father had told him about a young, British doctor who had tended to him when he was a young child. His dad had described the doctor in no small detail because he'd never gotten the chance to really thank him for saving the life of his small son. About a month after little Frank had been discharged from Methodist Hospital, the senior Reagan had finally found time and visited there to shake the doctor's hand and properly thank him. However, he'd been told that the doctor and his wife, who'd also worked there as a nurse, had suddenly not shown up for work one day, three weeks prior. The home that they'd shared with their own young son was abandoned. Young Det. Henry Reagan had tried for years off and on to locate the doctor but to no avail.

Twenty-six years later, a young Det. Frank Reagan, while investigating the case of a man and woman accused of graverobbing, had taken the statement of a gravedigger who'd ironically matched the description of his father's elusive British doctor; the same one who'd saved his own life as a child.

"At first, I had assumed this gravedigger must have been the British doctor's son or something. He was long on theories but short on any answers that made much sense. He'd frustrated me so much that I took a closer look at him and his family. Just to make sure that he wasn't involved with the graverobbers himself. What I found was ... what I found out about him was stuff right out of the Twilight Zone. He was married to a woman named Abigail, a nurse. Marriage certificate had a 1955 date on it, with him at 35 and Abigail at 34." He paused for a moment. "You good at math, Detective?"

Mike nodded, a slight frown on his face, not sure what that had to do with any of this.

"How old would a person be in 1979, if there was documentation showing they were 34 in 1955?"

Mike, still frowning, replied, "Uh, 58, 58 years old. Commissioner, I'm not sure I'm following you."

"His wife, Abigail, still an attractive woman, looked to be in her late 50's when I visited their home to question him some more. Dr. Morgan, however, who should have also been in his late 50's, still looked 35. And, according to when my dad had met the two of them in 1953, they both appeared to be in their early to mid 30's. Now, that washes with her, but not with him."

Mike's frown deepened along with his confusion. It took more than a few moments for the Commisioner's words to sink into his brain. As more and more things began to fall into place regarding the mysterious ME, the small muscles in his face twitched and threatened to form a wild grin. Laughter exploded from him but he didn't know why. The whole idea was just too ludicrous; he felt as though he should have been screaming from the top of his lungs, but instead, he was laughing. Was it possible? Was it even possible that this is the secret Henry had been hiding from all of them all this time? That he somehow exists like everyone else, but unscathed by time, unlike everyone else. "He ... doesn't age." He blinked repeatedly at the Commissioner.

"That would seem to be the case, Detective."

"But how ... ?"

"That," the Commssioner replied, as he rose from his chair, "is the million-dollar question, now, isn't it?"

Mike followed Frank with his eyes, as he'd risen from his chair and walked over to gaze out of the window and stretch his back.

"May I ask, Commissioner, why you're so willingly telling me all this? I mean it is Henry's personal business ... right?" It was one thing, he felt, for him and Jo to snoop behind Henry's back, but the Commish just blabbing out somebody else's personal business like this? He didn't get it. "Don't mean to be disrespectful, Sir."

"You're not being disrespectful, Detective, and you're right. This is the doctor's personal business. But he has crossed my family's path more than once before this. This time his life has begun to directly effect the workings of this department, what with his involvement with you and Det. Martinez in your crime solving. That makes his business our business." He turned to face Mike again. "That makes it my business, because it's my responsibility to make sure that nothing and no one disrupts or hampers this department's ability to maintain the highest level of performance in its main goal of protecting and serving the public." He clasped his hands behind his back and pushed his chin out (much like Henry often did, Mike observed).

Several thoughts raced across Mike's mind as he tried to grasp onto at least one that would adequately voice his feelings. "Am I out, Commissioner?" He didn't ask about Henry, because if he was out, it was given that Henry was, too.

"No, Detective, that's not why I brought you in here and shared this with you." He sat back down. "You keep your job. You did the only thing you could have done when you filed your report. I totally understand that because," he scoffed, "I did something similar when I filed my report back in '79. Had no choice. Who would have believed me? You and the doctor keep your jobs - "

"Thank you, Sir!" Mike blurted out, then realized that he'd interrupted him. "Uh, sorry."

"You both keep your jobs with certain new guidelines that shall be discussed at a later time. In the meantime, the good doctor stays in the morgue until those guidelines are in place."

"Yes, Sir." Mike nodded. He wondered about the new guidelines, and, it was as if the Commissioner had read his mind, with his next statement.

"The new guidelines apply more to Dr. Morgan than to you and Det. Martinez. Jo, isn't it?"

Mike nodded, then realized with embarrassment that he was bobbing his head up and down like his five-year-old instead of using his tongue. He cleared his throat. "Yes, yes, her name is Jo."

"Probably should have brought her in here, too," he muttered to himself. Then, louder, "The doctor will be apprised of these new guidelines that must be in place before his further participation in the crime-solving aspects of field investigations can resume."

"You're gonna pop over to the Doc's after this?" Mike grinned as he asked. His grin faded when he was met with a grim-faced Frank Reagan. "Uh, it's a, a British expression ... pop ... he says it a lot." He sighed and decided to shut up before he talked himself out of his newly re-promised job.

Frank's expression softened a bit. "Dr. Morgan and I will sit down and chew the fat, literally, at Peter Lugar's this Friday." He rose again and Mike knew that this time it signalled the end of their little meeting. Little? Man, is that the wrong word for this; more like explosive fact sharing. Frank paused before the door and looked down at Mike.

"As your Commissioner, I must remind you that this conversation never took place. But as a fellow member of a pretty unique circle of individuals who have uncovered some pretty remarkable information about one of our own, I'll remind you that nothing that we've just discussed about Henry Morgan leaves this room. We take care of our own. Understood?"

Mike nodded and smiled appreciatively. "Understood, Sir." He heaved an inward sigh of relief. His and Henry's jobs were safe. "Uh, one question, Sir? Det. Martinez?"

"As long as you feel you can trust her and since she already has her suspicions ... "

"Oh, sure, sure, she can definitely be trusted. In fact, I may not have to update her at all. Ya see, she and the Doc are kinda ... you know ... only everyone else can see it except them."

Frank chuckled. "Ah, yes. They are living in the Land of Denial." He chuckled some more. "Use your best judgment, Detective."

They walked out of the conference room and went their separate ways; Mike, back to his desk, and the Commish, out of the building, his personal entourage in his wake.


	4. Hanson Meets the Commish Ch 4

_"So, Francis ... I can't believe you actually found the doctor who treated you when you were a toddler... He was a few years older ... you sure he's able to make it here? Wouldn't want to be responsible for him falling and breaking a hip or stroking out or something just because I've got an itch to trot down memory lane."_

 _His son, Frank, the current Commissioner, chuckled a bit ... "Pretty sure you won't have to worry about anything like that, Pops. And he's not coming here. Dinner's gonna be at Peter Lugar's."_

 _"Ohhh, forgot; special occasion. He's still spry, huh?"_

 _"Yeah ... You might say that."_

vvvv

PC Frank Reagan sat behind his massive mahogany desk drumming his fingers, undecided about something; his thick, dark eyebrows knitted together over his dark eyes. His thick, dark moustache partially hid his upper lip, curled inward pressed tightly against his lower lip. He reached for the desk phone, a few times, pushing past his hesitancy, and finally picked up the receiver. He then punched in a phone number and immediately hung up before the first ring. He pondered how best to proceed with this face-to-face meeting with a certain Medical Examiner without scaring him away? As much as he enjoyed meetings over dinner at his favorite steakhouse, he'd come to realize that it just might be too public a venue for what he and his father, Henry Reagan, planned to discuss with Dr. Henry Morgan. Finally, he reached a decision.

"Baker," he leaned over and spoke into the intercom on his desk, "I'm heading back out."

("Yes, Sir. Car One will be waiting for you downstairs.")

He thanked her and grabbed his overcoat, putting it on as he walked determinedly out of his office.

vvvv

The kitchen above the antiques shop was filled with the delightful aromas of bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee, swirling amidst, and mingling well with each other. The usually appetizing first meal of the day remained mostly untouched on Henry Morgan's plate, as he appeared lost in thought. On the other side of the table, however, Abe Morgan was enjoying a generous, second helping.

"Would you please eat something, Dad? Mope about things later. No need to starve yourself."

Henry smiled that lopsided grin of his and looked down at the food in his plate, really noticing it this time. "Sorry, Abraham." He picked up his fork and said, "I'll try." He pushed the fork underneath a few scrambled eggs, then, released it. He sighed and sank again into his thoughts.

Abe finished his meal and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Look, Pops. What's done is done. Nobody believes that guy about having seen you disappear after he'd shot you, Hanson didn't see you - it's all over. Move on." He waved a hand dismissively and pushed his plate forward, and out of the way so that he could concentrate on reading his newspaper. The landline phone rang and Henry rose to answer it. He was able to get around better today with the use of a cane. It was important that his body healed naturally and scarred appropriately in order to avoid any suspicion. At least, not from anyone else besides his two detective colleagues and the Police Commissioner. By now, Lt. Reece, and, even his assistant, Lucas, may have growing suspicions. He answered on the third ring, and, after a few moments of murmuring and nodding, he hung up the phone and limped back into the kitchen.

"Don't tell me. A murder." Abe flatly stated. "Please tell me you're not going out."

"No, Abraham, not a murder." he replied as he leaned the cane against the wall behind him, one hand clutching the back of the chair. "We're going to have company in a few minutes." He sat down, pulled out his pocket watch, studied it, then closed it, and tucked it back away.

Abe couldn't help but notice the look on Henry's face, one of grim resignation. "That Det. Hanson again?"

"No. Police Commissioner Frank Reagan." he said matter-of-factly.

"The Com-MISH?" Abe asked, surprised. "He's the Top Cop for the NYPD. What's he coming to visit _you_ for?"

Henry frowned at him, slightly offended.

"You gonna switch over? Trade in your scalpel for a badge and a side arm?" Abe couldn't hide a childish grin.

Henry frowned deeper and shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no, Abraham." He side-eyed Abe as he inwardly debated whether or not to enlighten him about the reason behind the Commissioner's upcoming visit. The familiar tinkle of the bell over the shop's door temporarily (and, thankfully), interrupted him.

"That him?" Abe rose from his chair and made it to the stairs so quickly that it surprised them both. He pointed at Henry as he descended the stairs. "You stay there. I'll let him in."

Despite his foreboding, he wondered why it had taken so long for his presence to be detected by either of the Reagan men, Frank and his father, Henry. His heartrate had increased a bit and he breathed in deeply a few times to calm himself. The last time he had willingly shared his secret of immortality with anyone had been ... well, if he were really honest, he had never willingly shared it with anyone. It had always been reluctantly shared, as with his two wives, Norah and Abigail; or out of sheer necessity, as with a teenaged Abe after he'd accidentally overheard his parents arguing over when to actually tell him about his father's peculiar condition.

He was, admittedly, nervous about the Commissioner's visit but, surprisingly, did not feel threatened. Footsteps on the stairs drew his attention away from his thoughts.

Abe appeared first, and stood near the top of the stairs, a look of hesitancy and apprehension on his face. "Uh ... Henry... we have company."

Henry frowned, a bit confused over his behavior. "Well, show the Commissioner up, Abraham."

Abe looked back down over his shoulder, then back at Henry. "It's not the Commissioner."

Henry frowned a bit more. "Abraham, why on earth are you behaving so - " His words stuck in his throat at the sight of the two detectives, Jo and Mike, on the stairs behind Abe.

Hmmm, persistent little devils, he thought to himself. He lowered his head and eyed them from under a deeply furrowed brow, then sighed, resigned to his fate. "Come on up, Detectives. How nice to see you both again." He raised his head and managed a smile, but even he knew that neither his smile nor his voice reflected any cheer or warmth. As the two walked over to the table and sat down, Abe moved cautiously towards the kitchen island.

"Tea ... or the hard stuff?" he asked Henry as he scrutinized the pair.

"Both." Henry replied, maintaining his gaze on the two. Mike leaned forward a bit in his chair and began to speak, but Henry raised a hand to stop him. Mike and Jo shared a confused look while Henry's eyes darted everywhere around the room. The silence even confused Abe. Just as he opened his mouth to question his father, the shop's bell above the door tinkled.

"Ahhh," Henry drew out as he rose and limped with the cane over to the top of the stairs. "Commissioner?" he called down.

"Yes, Dr. Morgan. I'd like to have a word with you, if you don't mind." Frank called back in reply. He moved closer, to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at Henry.

"Do come on up and join us, Commissioner." Henry motioned him up and stepped awkwardly back as the taller man cleared the top stair. He motioned again towards the kitchen table and the two of them walked over and sat in the two remaining chairs. He looked at Mike and Frank and said, "I do believe you two need no introduction, but I'm not sure if you've ever met Mike's partner, Det. Jo Martinez."

Frank and Jo exchanged official pleasantries. "Been hearing a lot of good things about you and your two partners here, Det. Martinez."

A bit embarrassed by the unexpected accolade, she thanked him, then swallowed. _'Praises from the NYC Police Commissioner, no less. Wow.'_

Frank turned his attention, along with a serious expression, to Henry. "First of all, on behalf of my father, me, and the entire Reagan family, I'd like to thank you for saving my life - (he hesitated as he eyed the others) - a while back." He nodded and smiled knowingly at Henry.

"Oh, you're very welcome, Commissioner, although I was merely performing my duties at the time as your physician. But I am very happy, as I was then, that you not only survived that particularly virulent strain of flu, but grew up and went on to live a very exemplary life." He nodded to him. "Thank you, your father, _and_ your family for your service."

He then sighed. "But now, it's time for me to tell you all the truth ... to 'come clean', as my ... son," he dipped his head to indicate Abe and smiled with fondness and pride, "has been urging me to do for some time."

Frank, Jo, and Mike all dropped their jaws and slowly swiveled their heads to gaze at Abe in awe, then back at Henry, then each other. They broke their gazes from each other to let that unfathomable fact sink in.

Mike summed it up for all of them when he grinned and said, "Man, this is gonna be good."

vvvv

Darnell Johnson sat in the small visitation room at the small table in a prison jumpsuit, half listening while the public defender assigned to his case rattled on about the charges against him. He put up a hand. "Yeah, yeah." the frustration and impatience on his face evident. He then leanded forward, his elbows on the table as he wrung his hands. "What about the guy? The guy that I shot? He vanished right in front of me!" His voice grew louder as he spoke, then he sat back and calmed down when the guard took a step towards him. "Okay. I'm calm."

The public defender,Terrence Dell, was a novice assigned to his first case. He adjusted his thick, horn-rimmed glasses and was at first silent, choosing his words before he spoke.

"What about the guy, the vanishin' guy? Ain't that worth something? I go public on that," he leaned back and scoffed, "I'm sure nobody wants me to do that!" He pointed a finger at the young attorney. "You get me a deal in return for my permanent amnesia about that."

"You want to cop to a plea of sanity?"

"No!" The guard stepped forward again, his baton raised. "Sorry, sorry." he said, waving his hand to calm the guard down. In a quieter tone, he replied to his attorney. "No, I'm not crazy, it just sounds crazy. Look, they got me in here for shooting him with that cop's gun and then it went off accidentally and I got shot. He shifted in his chair eager to make himself understood. "The guy vanished. He didn't take off like that cop put into his report. It's like," he leaned back and spread both his arms out to the side, "I didn't shoot nobody, really. Well, except myself. And I ain't pressin' charges against myself." He laughed, then frowned and leaned forward, trying to get Dell to agree with him. "Right?"

The attorney closed a manila file folder and shoved it back into his briefcase, snapping it shut with his fist. "Except, Mr. Johnson, you did it with the gun that belonged to 'that cop', as you say. That is never good. The fact that you were injured with a self-inflicted wound in the process does nothing to keep you from doing some serious time." He adjusted his glasses again as Johnson frowned in confusion and demanded to know what he was doing, where did he think he was going?

Dell quickly rose up from his chair. "Where am I going? What do I think I'm doing? I'll tell you, Mr. Johnson. Back to my office to tender my resignation and then to the nearest bar to get stinking drunk! Because if you or anyone else thinks that I went through Yale School of Law just to sign up to babysit kooks like you - " He didn't finish his sentence; he nodded to the guard and stood anxiously near the door as it was being unlocked, nervously clutching his briefcase to his chest and pushing his glasses up again with his finger.

Johnson stood up, angered. "You can't just run out on me. I got a right to counsel." Dell was out of the room by now and storming away down the hall. Johnson yelled after him. "I'll get another attorney, a big shot this time. I'll go to the press. Somebody's gonna listen to me!" The guard unlocked his cuffs from the chained restraints on the table and hustled him back to his cell.


	5. Hanson Meets the Commish Ch 5

_Notes:_

 _Hope you don't mind, Ken_H, but I'm using words from your review of Chapter 4, the previous chapter, as this chapter's opener: "Henry has a spellbound audience after revealing that Abe is his son, not the other way around and Mike Hanson says what everyone feels "Man, this is gonna be good.". What's going to be just as good, if not better, is each of their reactions to Henry's true age and especially Jo's reaction - And then there's the issue of the guidelines for Henry?"_

vvvv

"Henry - first, tell me ... what exactly happened to you after Johnson shot you?" Mike leaned forward in his chair towards the ME, a look of weary anticipation on his face. The exact chain of events concerning that night had turned over and over in his mind for days, robbing him of both sleep and sustenance. For a while he'd feared it had also robbed him of rational thought. But now, after Henry's startling confession of being the father of his elderly roommate, he finally was able to see silhouettes in the haze regarding that and several other questionable incidents surrounding their most mysterious ME.

Henry seemed a bit caught off guard at first, but sighed and lowered his eyes with a smile. He looked back up at Mike and replied, "I bled out, died, and vanished. It happens after any of my deaths."

"Then how did you wind up at Presbyterian Hospital with a less serious leg wound?" Mike asked.

Henry slowly rolled his eyes over to meet Abe's, then slowly back to Mike. "After a death, my body vanishes and I find myself alive again, completely unharmed, in the nearest, large body of water - naked." He studied each of them as that revelation seeped into their psyches and contorted their features in various ways.

"Naked. Hmmm." Frank clamped his lips together and drummed his fingers on the table. He opened his mouth to say something, but Jo cut him off.

"The East River?" she half-squeaked, half-whispered, her brow pinched. He nodded once.

"So you ... but ... how ... ," Mike shifted forward in his seat again, "how did you get from the river, naked, and to the hospital fully clothed with a different gunshot wound?"

Henry explained about the decades-long plan that he and his son followed after he'd suffered a death. "If I can get to a phone and contact Abe, he brings me clothes and a towel and picks me up." He sighed and lowered his eyes. "If I can't reach him, then ... "

Frank sat back with his arms crossed. "You're arrested and charged with Public Nudity." he said matter-of-factly.

Henry, momentarily thrown off by his statement that most likely meant that the Commissioner harbored even more knowledge about him and his life of secrecy, smiled and nodded once. In anticipation of anyone else's next question, he quickly added, "I have no idea how or why this happens to me, though; only that it all began after having been shot and killed in 1814 - my first death." He looked at Jo, raised his hand and patted his fingers over a spot on his chest. "The, uh, scar ... over my heart. This is the only scar that my body has ever retained. Even scars that I'd acquired in the years prior to my transformation, are no longer visible on my body." He looked down at his hand, still on his chest. "Just this one. "

Jo's mouth worked but no words came forth. Finally, her worried eyes darting between Frank and Mike, then, settling on Abe, she asked, "How old were you then, Henry?"

He suddenly felt guilty for not having had confessed all this to her first - in private. He didn't dare meet Abe's piercing stare even though his silent 'I-told-you-so' echoed loudly and clearly in his mind. "Five months away from my 35th birthday, Jo." He swallowed and continued past their collective, stunned silence. "For a little over two hundred years, my physical appearance has never changed."

His earlier brashness dissolved, he was now plagued with foreboding and doubt. At the moment, only Jo, only her opinion, mattered. But, what damage had he done to their friendship, to their professional relationship, by having withheld the truth about his immortality from her for so long? He now sneaked a nervous glance in Abe's direction, who returned it with a look of sympathic support. A smile of thanks tugged at the corners of his mouth. He then looked into Jo's eyes and saw only her. Guilt overwhelmed him as he viewed the increasing mix of uncertainty and realization wash across her face.

"Please forgive me, Jo, for not having told you sooner than this. You deserved to be told. I see that now."

While a million why's and what's raced through her mind, she could only look at him. But she wanted to yell out, to cry, to shake some answers out of him that made sense, not ones that didn't! She'd known that he had secrets buried under layers of lies and half-truths, but this? A claim of unnaturally long life after having been - killed ? - in the 1800's ? She closed her eyes and shook her head, as if disbelief would rein the conversation back into the realm of normal reality. She finally opened her eyes and stared at him for several moments before speaking. Even though still undecided as to what to say next, she heard her own voice asking him why he had not trusted anyone else besides Abe?

Frank exchanged a look with Mike, the both of them beginning to feel like fifth wheels in a private conversation between would-be lovers. But they had both come into the conversation already knowing separate parts that made up Henry Morgan's mysterious existence. And, since he had invited them in, so to speak, they were there for the duration. Both men held their tongues, though, and waited for Henry's response.

"There have been times when ... my secret of immortality was revealed, and ... it resulted in dire consequences for me." His voice was quiet, hesitant, evident of unpleasant memories dredging themselves up. He rose from his chair and stood behind it, tightly gripping the back of it in order to support himself instead of using his cane.

"Charged with heresy and hanged. Burned at the stake. Tarred and feathered, and run out of town on a rail. That was a good day!" he scoffed as he raised a finger and both eyebrows. "Dissected like a frog. Every ounce of blood in my body drained out of me." He furrowed his brow and stared in their direction, but really at his mind's list of numerous past betrayals and unfair punishments. "All in the name of medical science to find out what makes me tick." His chest heaved up and down as his breathing quickened; his large, brown eyes narrowed and darkened as he recalled the harrowing times.

Abe watched his father uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, wanting him to finally confide in others about his condition, but, at the same time, ready to shield him from any subsequent hurt and pain for doing so. His knees suddenly let him know that he'd stood longer than he should have, and he perched himself onto one of their newly-acquired stools for the kitchen island. He groaned a bit at the flood of relief as his weight left his knees. When his father shot a concerned look at him, he smiled and waved a hand gently at him. "I'm fine, Pops. Just these old knees." He groaned again as he planted himself more squarely onto the stool, smiled and said, "Continue."

Both Mike and Frank smiled inwardly at Abe's callling Henry "Pops", for that's how they addressed their own fathers. But they were now into the meat of Henry's story, and nowhere, did it seem, was there an appropriate time for smiles.

"What about your other family?" Frank asked. Abigail was uppermost in his mind.

"If you're referring to my parents, my father died in 1812, and my mother six months later. My sister and two brothers all died in the late 1800's. By 1900, I was completely alone. Neither my siblings nor their descendants knew about my transformation. So there was no attending funerals or weddings or christenings ths later. My sister and two brothers all died in the late 1800's. By 1900, I was completely alone. Neither my siblings nor their descendants knew about my transformation. So there was no attending funerals or weddings or christenings because old Uncle Henry," he said, pointing to himself, "was supposed to have been either white-haired and withered with age or dead many years past." He laughed mirthlessly and continued, his voice growing quieter. "I was relegated to the shadows to watch them be born and expend their lives. Never to have had the pleasure of really knowing them."

"Sounds ... so lonely." Jo said, her expression pained. "I'm so sorry, Henry."

"But you were married at one time, right, Doctor?" Frank pressed. However mismatched their union may have appeared to be back in the 1970's when he'd visited their home to question him in the graverobbing case, he, at least, had seemed happy.

Henry paused and rubbed his fingers over his forehead, then raised his eyes to meet his. "Yes, Commissioner, I was married. Happily, for many years."

"Abigail was her name, right?" Frank asked.

Henry tilted his head a bit, and squinted at him.

"I was a detective in 1977, when I had occasion to question you first at your job, then at your home, during a graverobbing case."

The memory flooded back to him and brought a slight smile to his lips. "That was you?" he chuckled as he retook his seat.

Frank smiled broadly and nodded. "She was a lovely woman, even in - " he stopped himself, not sure if he'd overstepped a boundary.

"Yes, she was lovely, Commissioner." Henry agreed with a smile, before replying to Frank's earlier question. "The apparent, visible difference in our ages became too much for her to handle - the whisperings, the innuendos, the shunnings - and she left a few years later. I searched for her for years without success." He looked apologetically at Jo and Mike, who had recently worked diligently alongside him in what they'd only known was a hunt for Abe's mother, a woman named Sylvia Blake.

"She lived under an alias: Sylvia Blake." He braced himself for Jo's and Mike's reactions.

Jo's hand flew to cover her mouth, her eyes widened with surprise as that puzzle piece fell into place. Mike just frowned and whistled. Their gazes slowly turned from Henry to rest on Abe, who frowned over a weak smile.

"A-Abe's mother was your ... oh, my God, Henry, we didn't know. When we found her bones, oh ... " She rose abruptly, her hand over her mouth, and stumbled towards the stairs where she stopped and gripped the railing with one hand, her mouth still covered with the other. Henry quickly rose and limped over to her without his cane. He stood closely behind her but dared not touch her.

"Jo, the whole thing - my life - all of it ... it's ... complicated." He stammered, spreading his hands helplessly.

She whirled around to face him with fire in her eyes. "You bet it's complicated!" She scoffed and reminded him of how much time and effort both she and Mike and Lucas and Reece had put into helping find Abe's mother. "All the time seeing how concerned we were for him, and for you. Traveling back and forth across the five boroughs tracking down clues, making sure her remains were properly attended to. All the while you withheld that one, little piece of pertinent information from us, from me! That she was also your wife!"

"Jo. Please try to understand. I just couldn't tell you or anyone else at that time."

"I don't understand, Henry. I don't. We're not just your colleagues, we're your friends, at least we've tried to be. Didn't that mean anything to you?" She implored.

"I can see that you are upset because you feel that your overtures of friendship seem not to have been fully reciprocated by me, but, I can assure you - I do care deeply for you."

She shook her head, her bouffant curls bouncing over her shoulders. "It's not that, Henry ... well, yes, it is that, but ..." She sighed in frustration and locked her gaze with his. "You didn't have to suffer alone." She watched him as he hung his head. "I would have been there for you ... and Abe. You could have trusted me." She stepped closer to him, placing her hands on his chest. "What made you feel that you couldn't have? I mean, I get it that you've been betrayed and tortured before, probably by people who never really knew or cared for you, but ... this is me."

"Because of what my first wife, Nora, did to me, when I shared my secret with her. Someone who professed to love me till death do us part!"

"Your ... first wife." She repeated while intently staring at him as if trying to insert this new fact into its proper slot in her memory banks.

"She didn't believe me. When I tried to kill myself in front of her to prove I would die but return to her unscathed, she stopped me by telling me that she did believe me. She'd lied, though. The next day she had me carted off to an insane asylum where they tortured me for months to 'rid me of my madness' they said."

He scowled darkly at the remembrance of her betrayal. "She only visited me a few times. Wouldn't even look at me as I begged her to help get me released. I had to hang myself in order to escape." He blurted out. "In my opinion, there was a 50/50 chance that you really could be trusted with my secret. Don't you see? I loved both of my wives, but only one was worthy of my trust. No matter how many times Abe has urged me to tell you, I, I, I just couldn't. I ... I didn't want to lose you, Jo. If it meant having you in my life only as a friend or colleague, I was willing to settle for that. But I couldn't chance losing you." He shook his head, his eyes wide with both fear and regret, his voice deep, husky, full of emotion. "Ever since I first met you, Jo, I haven't been able to get you out of my mind."

She cupped his face in her hands, then snaked her arms around his neck, and hugged him closely. Surprised, but pleased, he hesitated a few seconds, then wrapped his arms around her waist. They both closed their eyes and took refuge in each other's arms. She caressed the hairs at the nape of his neck, while he gently rubbed his hands up and down her back.

Neither was aware when Abe placed a finger to his lips and motioned for Mike and Frank to stealthily follow him up the stairs that led to the rooftop terrace. Once there, the three of them breathed in the cool air, and relaxed a bit as they broke into nervous but quiet laughter. They seated themselves at the table; Mike and Frank finally able to digest the fantastical information Henry had shared with them, while Abe closely studied them both.

"What happens now?" Abe finally spoke, directing his question to both men, mainly to Frank. "My father's a good man. He didn't ask for this to be his life." he added, deadly serious.

Mike automatically looked at Frank and waited for him to respond first.

Frank inhaled and exhaled loudly as he eyed Abe. "You're right. Your father is a good man." He couldn't help but feel odd saying that to the perceived, older man about his younger-looking father. "And I can understand your concerns regarding any upset to his life here in New York." He paused, then smiled. "As far as I'm concerned, Dr. Morgan will be able to enjoy continued employment in the OCME and he's welcome to keep aiding the NYPD in crime investigations - with certain restrictions - as long as I am Commissioner." He glanced over at Mike.

"That's great!" Mike nodded and grinned. "We like the Doc. And now that we know why he's so - "

"Weird?" Abe ventured.

"Well, now that we know more about him - Jo and I - we can understand him better." he further explained. He realized, also, that he owed the good doctor an apology as soon as Jo unhooked herself from him, for having jokingly gifted him those goggles and speedos after what was then thought to be another episode of nude sleepwalking. He now guiltily recalled how well Henry had taken the good-natured ribbing; even allowing the gift exchange moment to be captured by several of the unis' smartphone cameras. Knowing now that the man had actually died and come back to life in the murky East River was still mind boggling. 'Poor guy. If we'd only known.'

Frank addressed Abe's earlier question by repeating it. "What happens now? "

vvvv

Henry and Jo finally pulled away from each other a bit, causing him to wince as he attempted to put his full weight on both legs. Jo quickly turned and moved to his side, instructing him to lean on her. She walked slowly towards the couch in the sitting area, as he limped along with his arm draped over her shoulders. Once they reached the couch, she helped ease him down onto it. As he leaned back and caught his breath, she scrambled quickly into the kitchen to retrieve his cane.

"Here you go." she announced with a broad smile as she leaned it against the couch next to him.

"Thank you, Jo." He watched her as she curled up on the couch next to him. "For everything."

"Wonder where those guys disappeared to?" she asked, suddenly aware of their absence.

Henry pointed a finger upward. "Most likely on the rooftop terrace discussing me and my fate." He leaned closer to her, gently brushing the backs of his fingers along her jawline. "But your opinion is the only one that matters to me, Jo." He looked deeply into her lovely, brown eyes. Each time her eyelids fluttered, so did his heart. It was a strangely warm, delicious feeling, having her movements control him this way. She parted her lips and he felt drawn to them, wanting desperately to cover them with his own, to fall fully under her control. "I love you, Jo Martinez." he said throatily. There. It was finally out there. She could do with his heart what she would, but, God help him, he loved this woman. For the first time in more than 30 years, he had fallen in love.

She scooted closer to him, her eyes flickering between his dark hazel eyes and his sensuous lips. She leaned closer until their faces were only inches apart. "And I love you, Henry Morgan." She placed her hand on his cheek and slowly moved her fingers up and to the back of his neck. He breathlessly anticipated a soft, slow kiss, that gradually deepened, but she forcefully pulled him towards her and crushed her eager lips against his. He gladly let himself be taken over by her and enjoyed every moment of this frantic kiss that bordered on desperation. They were both so hungry for each other's touch; so thirsty for each other. They finally broke away from each other, panting and taking in needed oxygen, smiling at each other. The sound of someone clearing their throat caught their attention.

"Uh, Dad?" Abe stammered, embarrassed to have caught them in an amorous moment.

They looked at him, then, at each other, and chuckled softly, as they both recalled the last time they'd been interrupted by him. The night that she had decided not to go to Paris with billionaire Isaac Monroe, and had come to the shop to try to tell Henry that she'd rather go with with him, instead. They'd stood and stared into each other's eyes for several moments, neither having had the courage to voice anything romantic or even touch each other. She'd been working up the nerve to tell him of her desires about Paris, when Abe had interrupted them with what had later led them to his mother's, Henry's wife's, remains.

"Yes, Abraham?" Henry asked, fully aware that the reason behind his son's latest interruption was, most likely, also equally important.

Frank appeared behind Abe, his hands clasped behind his back, as he stared intently at Henry. "Doctor? We have a few more things to discuss."


	6. Hanson Meets the Commish Ch 6

Commissioner Frank Reagan and Det. Mike Hanson took their leave from the Antiques Shop. The meeting with Dr. Henry Morgan and his son, Abe, had been both eye-opening and life changing. Not only had the doctor disclosed the secret of his own immortality to them, but that of Adam's, as well. He'd provided details of how the sinister immortal had stalked and terrorized him for months; about their climactic confrontation on the abandoned subway platform that culminated in Henry being killed by Adam, but Adam being paralyzed by Henry after he'd injected him in the neck with an air bubble from an empty syringe. If Henry had had any doubts about how far Frank was willing to go to help protect him and his secret, they were quickly dispelled with his succinct reply.

 _"If you would allow me to make a few phone calls, I'm sure that 'Dr. Farber' could be transferred immediately to a facility more equipped to handle his particular needs. One that has a more sophisticated security system and a staff with - particular skill sets - to ensure he receives the proper care for the rest of his life."_

Henry smiled with genuine gratitude as he, Abe and Jo watched the two men climb into the Commissioner's specially equipped vehicle dubbed Car One and drive away.

Abe quickly stepped over to the coat rack, grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it.

"You're leaving, Abraham?" Henry asked.

"Uh, yeah, uh, poker night at Morty's." He smiled but ducked his head to hide the lie on his face from his father.

Henry followed him to the door to lock it after he left. Once outside, Abe caught his father's eye and gave him a thumbs up and a huge grin. Henry smiled and nodded.

"What was that all about?" Jo asked, motioning with her head to Abe's retreating form.

"Oh, you picked up on that bald-faced lie of his, too?" He chuckled as he slowly stepped closer to her. "His poker nights are Friday nights. And his friend, Morty is out of town until then."

"What's the deal, then?"

He stood directly in front of her now, so close that he once again felt his knees going weak; the butterflies in his stomach and giddily lightheaded at finally being alone with her. "He correctly surmised that you and I need a little privacy."

"Oh, he 'correctly surmised', did he?" She ran her finger gently across his smiling lips. "And just what are we supposed to do with this gift of privacy?"

His eyes widened a bit, then his smile broadened. "I'm sure that we can come up with something." His arms encircled her waist and drew her in closer to him. "Something like this ... " He covered her lips with his, gently washing them side to side over hers, then harder, parting her lips until his tongue hungrily connected with hers. She placed her hands on either side of his head and laced her fingers into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. They fought each other for dominance over the kiss but eventually pulled away from each other, succumbing to the need for oxygen.

He closed his eyes and held her close, caressing her hair and nuzzling his face against the side of hers. "Are you sure you want to do this, Jo? How are we going to handle this? This ... relationship?"

She pulled back and looked him squarely in the eyes. "One day at a time, Henry. Just like everyone else does. One day at a time."

He stared at her, his heart bursting with pride and love and a myriad other nice, goose-bumpy feelings. Their eyes fluttered close as they moved in for another heart-pounding kiss when they heard a knock at the shop's door. Jo grinned and shook her head. Henry groaned and rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it!

"Abraham!" he muttered under his breath through clenched teeth.

Jo peeped over his shoulder and said, "It's, uh, not Abe." She pointed urgently towards the door and Henry turned around to see the Asian teen Abe had once accused of stealing a small horse statue, waving and smiling at him through the glass. He quickly walked over and unlocked and opened the door.

"Hi. I'm Sam," he announced cheerfully.

"Yes, um, Sam." Henry repeated, confused.

"Actually, Samnang Phan, but people call me Sam." He continued to smile but it faltered a bit when Henry failed to respond. "Um, your friend, Abe, hired me to work here part-time? I'm taking classes at NYU - "

"Oh! Yes, Sam. I do apologize. Come right in, come right in." Henry stepped aside to let Sam in but he bugged his eyes at Jo in confusion.

"Ah, Sam, this is Det. Jo Martinez of the NYPD. Jo, this is Sam. Abe hired him in a part-time capacity." He lowered his head and glowered at her in a mocking manner behind Sam's back.

Jo did her best to suppress a hearty laugh at Henry's frustration of having yet another romantic interlude of theirs interrupted by someone. She extended her hand and Sam shook it.

"Well, nice to meet you, Sam. Hope you enjoy working here. They're a great couple of guys."

"Oh, I'm sure I will, thank you." Sam moved past her and took up residence behind the counter, stashing his book-filled backpack on the bottom shelf. "Just go on with what you were doing. Don't mind me, I'll be okay." He smiled contentedly and sat down in the swivel chair behind the counter, ready for the next customer.

Jo smiled at Henry and fished her car keys from her pocket. "Guess I'll head back to the precinct. Clear up a few things on my desk, then head home." She walked past him and poked him in the ribs with her elbow. "One day at a time," she whispered.

He walked her to the door and then asked, "Am I an ogre for wanting to punch that young man in the nose?" He turned a fake smile toward Sam, then back to Jo.

Her own fake smile vanished and she replied, "No."

He chuckled as he watched her drive away.

vvvv

Car One pulled up to the 11th Precinct to drop Det. Hanson off. He hesitated a second before exiting the vehicle.

"Commissioner, it's been a real honor and a pleasure spending time with you." He extended his hand to Frank, who grasped it in a hearty handshake.

"Same here, Mike."

Mike's eyes widened.

"Look, you and I are part of a very special group now. Consider us friends, if that's okay with you."

"Oh, sure, sure, Sir, it's fine with me. Fine with me. Absolutely." He managed to stop himself because he was blathering on like Lucas. He steadied himself and breathed out, "Frank."

"Of course, on the job, it's title and rank only."

Mike nodded. "Oh, absolutely, Commissioner."

"But off the job ... I prefer first names between friends. Especially while fishing."

"Yes, Sir. Sounds great, Sir." Mike was elated. He'd just been invited to go fishing with the Commish! Wow! Thanks to your immortal butt, Henry Morgan, ha ha!

"Sir? Do you really think that the new guidelines you spelled out for Henry will help keep him ... safe from ... you know?"

Frank thought for a second, inhaled and exhaled quickly, and said, "No." Both men broke out into laughter. "One can only hope, Detective."

"Yes, Sir." Mike stepped out of the vehicle and closed the door. He saluted as Car One pulled away from the curb and into traffic. He ticked off the guidelines the Commish handed down to Henry, Jo and him:

1) Bulletproof vest or NASA-designed under armor, mandatory for Henry during criminal field investigations.

2) No more lone pursuits of criminals by Henry. Leave that for guns and badges, only.

3) Henry should use the password 'Safe Haven' if, after his demise, he should encounter any law enforcement personnel so as to avoid arrest for public nudity. The official unofficial edict would be given to all departments and bureaus operating under the umbrella of the NYPD. Any further information would be provided on a "need-to-know" basis. Henry would be provided dry clothing and be escorted home; no charges filed, no arrests.

4) Jo, Mike, Henry and Abe would each be issued an NYPD courtesy card. Both Lucas and Lt. Reece would be issued one later after Henry has had "the talk" with them.

5) The group would brainstorm to figure out the best way to stash dry clothing and cab fare for Henry during their lifetimes and beyond.

6) Best rule to follow? Don't die, Henry!

vvvv

Four months later ...

The new guidelines seemed to be working to keep Henry both safe and alive. Abe is thrilled that his father can now be safely retrieved and escorted home by someone other than himself. All courtesy of the PC himself.

Jo is thrilled and daydreaming because their investigations have gone smoother without the worry of Henry jumping in front of her or Mike to take a bullet for them. Eh, and the NASA-designed lightweight under armor works for the both of them, as well. Great idea.

They've actually managed to start dating. Now, if they could only manage to stop getting interrupted ...

Mike is thrilled and daydreaming about his day of fishing at the pier with the Commish, er, Frank. His newest friend, Frank Reagan. Cool day. Good company, good conversation. And not a bad haul, either.

"Martinez. Hanson." Lt. Reece's voice cut into their imaginings and reminded them that they were on the clock in the bullpen.

"Yes, Lieu," they responded in unison.

She walked briskly toward the elevators. "Follow me." They both jumped up from their desks and caught up with her just as the elevator doors opened. The three of them entered the elevator and Reece punched the button for the basement. She stood with her arms folded, her expression hard and serious. Neither of them dared utter a word. As the doors opened, she marched out with the two detectives in tow, almost struggling to keep up with her. Reece marched into the morgue and slowed as she approached Lucas Wahl at his work station.

"Join us, Mr. Wahl."

Lucas jumped up wide eyed and confused. "Uh, yes, Ma'am, uh, Lieutenant." He fell in step behind Jo and Mike as they approached Henry's office.

Reece stopped abruptly at the doorway and knocked on the doorjamb. Henry looked up from his report and laid his pen down. He could feel the sense of urgency concerning Reece's rare and unexpected visit.

"May I have a word with you, Dr. Morgan?" she asked.

"Yes, of course. Come in, please." He smiled as he motioned for her to be seated in one of the chairs facing his desk. He eyed the others with a look of confusion, but they merely shrugged back at him.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" He plastered a fake smile on his face.

"Doctor, I like to say that I know everything that goes on in my precinct. And I don't like being left out of the loop. The three of you have been keeping things from me. So I'd like for you to tell me and Mr. Wahl just what is 'Safe Haven' all about?"

His plastered smile began to crumble. He looked helplessly to Jo and Mike who shook their heads slightly and closed their eyes. He took a couple of deep breaths and replied, "It's a long story."

"Well, that's fine, Doctor," she said as she gave him that familiar all-knowing smile with a raised eyebrow. "From what I've been able to deduce, you've got all the time in the world. Haven't you?"


	7. Hanson Meets the Commish Ch 7

PC Frank Reagan sipped from his water glass and checked the time on his wrist watch again. He hoped the isolation of the well-appointed banquet room in Peter Lugar's Steak House would provide enough privacy for his invited guest, Dr. Henry Morgan.

"It's exactly five minutes later than when you checked it earlier, Francis," Henry Reagan teased his son. "Relax. He'll be here." He munched on a bread stick.

Frank grunted a bit and reached for a bread stick. "And you know that how?" his eyebrows raised.

His father grinned and replied, "Turn around."

Frank turned in his seat to see his guest and two others walking towards him, led by a wait person. Frank smiled broadly and rose from his seat, extending his hand to them in greeting. "Doctor. Glad you could make it."

Henry shook his hand and motioned to his two companions. "Thank you again, Commissioner, for your gracious invitation. I hope you don't mind ... you did mention that I could bring someone with me."

"Of course," he replied. "Detective Martinez, Mr. Morgan; nice to see you both again."

They both smiled and returned his greeting. Henry held Jo's chair out for her and once she was seated, the four men seated themselves again.

The two Henry's gazes locked with each other's while Frank watched them for any spark of recognition between them. After a few moments, just when he'd decided that he should help them uncork their memories, his father spoke.

"I've been waiting more than 60 years to thank you for the great care you administered to my son when he was so small and ill." He extended his hand. "Thank you, Dr. Morgan."

Henry shook his hand, a smile mixed with gratitude and self consciousness adorned his face. "I was merely doing my job, Commissioner."

"And you did it well," he pointed at him. "I truly believe that my son survived that time because of your insistence on the level of treatment he received." He suddenly sat back in his chair. "You weren't fired because of that, were you?"

Henry shook his head and frowned slightly. "No, no, no. I left voluntarily, my wife and I." He glanced at Abe and Jo then back at the retired PC. "We, uh, decided that it was time to, uh ... "

"I'm sure you had a good reason, Doctor," the retired PC said. "No need to explain." The two men smiled appreciatively at each other.

The wait person had disappeared into the outer restaurant for a few minutes but now returned and approached their table. He took their wine and meal orders and disappeared again into the kitchen.

"I got one question, Doctor," the retired PC suddenly said. "Not gonna ask you who your makeup artist or personal trainer is, but my granddaughter-in-law, Linda, is set on matching you up with my granddaughter, Erin. But since you showed up with _this_ lovely young lady, I'll bet it's safe to say that you're already taken; am I right?"

"Pops!" Frank looked away and buried his face into his hand. "Aw ... geez. Talk about embarrassing!" Frank muttered and glared disbelivingly at his father.

Both Henry and Jo fought to hide their deep blushes as they chuckled and fidgeted nervously.

Abe raised his eyebrows and looked at the retired PC and then at his greatly embarrassed son. "Well," he said. "Nice to know that I'm not the only son who gets embarrassed by some of the things his father says." He ignored his father's disapproving glower.

"Abraham!" Henry's look of disapproval slowly morphed into an unwilling grin and all of them burst into laughter.

The rest of the meal at the premier steak house went well with the good-natured banter of newly-formed friendships and promises of future get togethers.


End file.
